


Immeasurable

by Mnemos9



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 9x23 Coda, Angst, Dark, Demon Dean, Dying Castiel, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M, Post 9x23, Pre-Slash, Referenced Alcohol/Drug Use, S10 Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 12:01:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1778293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mnemos9/pseuds/Mnemos9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m not the man you knew, the one who <i>deserved</i> to be saved.” His own words from that night echo harshly between them. “Not anymore.” Dean whispers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Immeasurable

It takes Castiel three days to reach the old farmhouse when he gets the Call. Once it would have taken him less than three seconds, but now he has to stop for traffic and fuel and even the occasional nap.  Twice he gets lost and one time he has to pull off into a cul-de-sac to reorient himself. He has a hard time making out the directions on the phone’s GPS through his tears.

At last, on the end of the third _long_ day, he finds the place miles from the nearest house.  He knows it from the parked outline of the Impala, whose trunk Sam is reclining on. Even through the freshly wiped windshield She looks dull and neglected, where once She gleamed like obsidian and proclaimed to the world at large _I am cherished, I am loved_. He fights down nausea as Sam uncrosses his legs and slides off with wince and a wave of greeting. The night is heavy with the humidity of storm clouds that have yet to break and Sam’s hair sticks up in several places. He runs a hand through visibly unwashed locks as he ambles over, favoring his left leg and limping slightly on the right. Cas exits the car and shuts the door before he takes a step and realizes that his coat is caught in it. He has to reopen it to free himself.

“Hey, Cas.” Sam sighs wearily, attempting a smile.

He appears older than he did the last time Castiel saw him, and not just because of his visible sustained injuries. A black eye impedes his visibility and heavy bruising on his brow and jaw are starting to yellow around the edges. Also several healing scrapes and cuts discolor his skin. The scent of alcohol wafts from his breath when he speaks.

“Hello, Sam.” His own reply is stiff, voice cracking from fatigue and disuse. He reaches into his coat pocket for a bottle of warm water colored red by a caffeine supplement.

There isn’t much left, so Cas empties it, fumbling with the cap and studying the rippled image of his palm through the transparent matter. His vision has been alternating between spectrums without his inclination lately. Right now he has to squint to make out the beads of moisture in the fading twilight that trail down the inside of the plastic.

The angel (if he can still be called one) inhales deeply and stows the empty bottle as he looks up. The younger Winchester’s purpled gaze is clouded and erratic as he pulls him into an awkward hug. Even if it’s awkward, Cas holds on as he fights to control his breathing. Sam pats his back twice before pulling away and grasping his shoulder briefly.

“You, uh…” he clears his throat and coughs into the crook of his elbow as his hand leaves Cas. “You look tired.” They both grimace and he observes the barn some sixty feet away before turning to Sam’s darkened countenance. He’s been beaten worse, but the emotional toll probably trumps the physical one.

“Have you been mixing medication?” On the phone he hadn’t stated the extent of his injuries and Castiel isn’t going to lose Sam to something as avoidable as a negative chemical reaction.

“Not lethally,” he scratches behind his ear. “I’m taking something more, uh, natural to bring the swelling down.”

“You mean marijuana.” It’s the most logical conclusion. Sam huffs in resignation.

“Yeah. Not my first choice, but it’s the best alternative I could think of to prescription meds.” Castiel nods in agreement. “I mean, wouldn’t that be a crappy way to go, after…” he casts his head in the direction of the unpaved road. “after everything?” he chuckles sourly. “The whiskey counteracts the anxiety and helps with everything else.”  Satisfied with the answer, Castiel moves on.

“What about food, water? Have you slept ?” Sam turns back to him, scrubbing a hand over his face. He really does look terrible.

“I’ve got enough to eat and drink,” he smiles reassuringly. “And I’ve caught a few Z’s here and there but,” he shrugs and stuffs his hands into his jean pockets. “You know.” Under the circumstances, it’s the best answer he can hope for. The angel can hear his own heartbeat as it begins to pick up.

“You should try.” The ground beneath him feels unsteady, so he widens his stance for balance.

“Yeah but he doesn’t, so…” Sam shrugs again. “I mean I check like every half-hour or so, but I don’t think he’s going anywhere this time.” Cas nods absently, focus drifting to the uncased pillow propped up in the Impala’s passenger side and the construction materials in the backseat. An ear of sheeted plastic that folds over the open window drifts lazily in the breeze and the end of a hose is draped over the same side.

“How are _you_ holding up?” Sam hastens to add “Physically, I mean.”

“I’m managing.” He states simply, not wishing to go into detail. “You said you used two sets of manacles?” Sam is smart enough not to press the question.

“ _Three_ , actually. Last time two wasn’t enough. He knew how to slip a pair of cuffs before he learned how to drive,” Sam laughs weakly before the exhaustion and despair finally come crashing down over his features. “So I had to get kind of creative. Your ideas were a big help too, and well,” his sighs. “You’ll see.”

“It’s like something straight out of a bondage porno in here!” Dean’s voice-colored by a bitter, barely suppressed rage rings out and they both start, turning towards the barn.

No one emerges. Neither of them breathe for a minute and Cas’ vision blurs around the edges. It’s the first time he’s heard Dean’s voice in person since the hunter was locked in the Bunker’s dungeon.

“You gonna stand around moaning like girls all night or what?!” Sam inhales sharply and glances down at the dirt.

“You should probably get in there. He’ll just yell and yell and _yell_ until you do.”

“Either that or you could just _fuck off_!” Echoes of his last phone call from Sam play through Castiel’s head, with Dean screaming in the background _Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare bring him here, you son of a bitch I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!!_

“Go get some rest, Sam.” He says quietly. “You need it. You _will_ need it.”

“I can still hear every _goddamn_ word out of your mouths!” Sam swallows and nods, still peering down.

“Right now? You don’t want me to—“

“You _need_ to sleep.”  Sam lifts his gaze to the barn.

“I’ll try but no promises.” Cas reaches out to pat his upper arm before double and triple-checking his person for anything that could be used as a weapon.

Out of caution he removes the plastic bottle, spare change, his phone, belt and shoelaces. Dazedly, Castiel deposits them all in the driver’s seat of his car and latches the door quietly, watching Sam slink off towards the barn. He decides to get moving before Dean can start shouting again but half-way there he does anyway

“It’s cruel to keep a date waiting, you know!” He stops in his tracks and closes his eyes, praying for strength. Who to, he isn’t certain.

When Cas reaches the fortified doors, he pushes away the memory of that night from five years previous. He’s experienced more in the years stemming from that encounter than he has since before the birth of humanity. Mostly _because_ of the person locked-up behind these doors.

Sam undoes a heavy padlock imprinted with runes and passes it back to him. Castiel notes the symbols etched into the iron chains that Sam begins to unravel. He’s done an excellent job on them. Cas wonders how acute his own senses will be and what he’ll seem like to Dean now. He doesn’t dare to _hope_ for anything. The last coil comes undone and Sam gathers the complete bundle in his arms.

“Secure it behind me.” The man shoots him a non-verbal request of confirmation.

He gives it and Sam steps aside. Cas steels himself as much as possible and closes clammy fingers around the handle. He pulls.

The odor of sulfur hits him as he steps inside, closing the door behind him. He suppresses the wave of dizziness it helps to feed. The lighting is very poor but his vision has decided to compensate for that after all. Castiel doesn’t move. He just stares at the demon in the center of the building. The instant he entered, its’ aspect had warped into a writhing void of barely distinguishable darkness. Four seconds pass and the features settle more into an achingly familiar resemblance. He’s dimly aware of the clinking of chains behind him in the otherwise quiet space. Castiel doesn’t move. He simply waits until he can make out _Dean’s_ bloodied face, squinting at him in the gloom.

“Well look at you, shining brighter than the freakin’ Sun.” There’s a faint infernal distortion woven into his voice. He tries to sound annoyed, but there’s a strain in his tone that doesn’t sell it.

“My apologies.”  Dean winces, and Cas pulls in as much of his aura as he can and folds his wings in closely, attempting to make himself smaller. He drops his volume too; his voice might sound deafening.  It takes a surprising amount of effort.

“Bettin’ I look like one ugly S.O.B. from where your twinkling ass is standing!” He yells, squinting less and for now his eyes are their usual deep jade.

“You look different.” Cas whispers, fighting to keep his tone even. Dean scoffs, letting his chin drop as much as it can, due to his bindings. Flesh sizzles and he raises his head slightly.

“Right.”  He can smell the tang of Dean’s blood in the air, although that has changed too. Not much, however.

Castiel takes a moment to examine the set-up laid before him. The room has been cleared of farming equipment and any previous stock. Freshly laid concrete, no older than two weeks by the smell of it, covers nearly every foot of the foundation. It’s been well cured; covered in the damp and wetted in the heat to prevent cracking. A devil’s trap that dominates the area has been chiseled into it, with beveled iron welded into the grooves. Additional binding sigils in multiple languages-including Enochian-have been worked into it and these have been copied in red paint over the expanse surrounding the trap. The slatted walls display several of these as well. Cas moves closer, noting the way Dean’s downcast features shake and deform at his approach.

His face is caked with crackling dried blood and the enchantments subduing him also prevent the damages from healing. He is bound with multiple lengths of engraved chain and sturdy restraints to a solid metal chair that’s been bolted to the floor. His legs are shackled to it. A thick iron cuff is fixed snug around his neck, conjoined to more slackened chain fastened around the bench and also embedded into the concrete. A set of inscribed cuffs from the Bunker anchor his wrists in front of him. Another pair with re-fitted dimensions pull his forearms in while another set lock his elbows together. He’s in a t-shirt, so the cuffs leave their mark; one set grazing _the Mark_. The positioning of it resembles prayer. Castiel can recall Sam’s taut voice on the phone saying he hadn’t even meant for it to be like that.

“Admiring Sam’s handiwork?” The arrangement makes it impossible for Dean to do anything except turn his head within a limited range. “I was pretty impressed too. No idea how he scrounged up the cash.” He lifts his arms, considering the assembly with disdain, before dropping them and letting his gaze fall back to the ground.

“I was able to contribute some of the funds acquired for it.” Cas takes another hesitant step. There’s approximately fifteen feet between them now.

“Yeah from what I hear, you _contributed_ some of the blueprints and spell work for it too.” Dean talks to his secured feet.  He wants to hear Castiel admit to it, then. The flesh around his throat is raw and blistered where the iron rubs against it.

“I did, yes.” Castiel’s own throat tightens at the sight and smell of it.

“And whose _dick_ did you have to suck for all that green, huh?” Dean’s voice vibrates with the distortion, his features quavering somewhere in-between states as he scowls up at Cas and tilts his head in mimicry of the angel.

“I used various methods. None of which involved anything even,” he swallows, feeling an absurdly inappropriate flush creep up his neck. “remotely close to sex.”  Dean’s profile settles and Castiel yearns to advance, but judging by the other’s current emotional state, it would be a foolish move.

“Sure.” he frowns, focus languishing over Cas’ nether regions before returning to his eyes. “Guess you were saving up to get your rocks off till you saw _this_.” He leans back in the chair as much as he can, spreading his palms open up to the heels. Dean blinks and his eyes blacken. “Well take a good, long look, honey. Was it worth it?”

Deciding to forsake logic, the angel takes another step, followed by another. He crosses the trap. The demon rises to the surface, agitated to the point of frenzy at his very presence. What’s left of his stolen grace flares white and demands that he obliterate the creature before him. Except it isn’t some _creature_. It’sDean.

“Why do you keep running from Sam?” Cas peers steadily into the chaotic depths.

“Maybe I don’t like being caged up.” His voice reminds Castiel of an angry swarm of insects.

“He can help you.” Another two steps.

“By what, calling you here to smite me?!” Unbidden, the image flashes through his mind and he strides with purpose towards the one being who means _everything_ to him. The demon recoils as much as it can. Every celestial fiber inside of him is blazing so intensely it feels like his vessel’s going to ignite.

“YOU SERIOUSLY BELIEVE I COULD?!” Cas bellows, struggling to keep his volume within reasonable human range. “You believe I could lay a hand on you and feel your existence _burning out_ under my fingertips?” There are five feet distancing them, and yet he has to yell over the infernal screeching that may or may not actually be coming from Dean’s lungs. “You think I could listen to your dying screams and look down at your lifeless, smoldering body and somehow walk away from all that?” Less than three feet and his nails are clawing holes into his fists. “I WOULD RATHER BE TORN APART FROM THE INSIDE-OUT FOR ALL OF ETERNITY!”

Cas falls to his knees at Dean’s feet, hacking violently and tasting blood. He goes to spit it out but on second thought swallows and gasps, laboring for breath. He glimpses up into Dean’s face, all vestiges of the demon obscured from his senses due to over-exertion. The man he loves gazes down at him, unfathomable sorrow shining in his perfectly dry, green eyes.

“I was…ready…to die…” he chokes, coughing into his sleeve but never taking his eyes off of Dean. “I _wanted_ ,” he tries to clear his throat and moistens it with his own blood as he swigs it back down. “to die.”

Dean’s chapped and split lips part imperceptibly before he clenches his jaw shut. Cas’ vision begins to dim, threatening loss of consciousness, but he wills it away. Every nano-second spent in Dean’s presence is worth fighting for.

“When we re-opened it, I searched… _all_ of Heaven for you.” He sways slightly before planting his palms firmly on the concrete. There will be blood there now, but the angelic kind won’t be of much use (he hopes). “Then I heard Sam.” Dean continues to stare down at him, facial muscles twitching with tiny convulsions of emotion. “I heard him, and I…” Cas looks down at his shaking, pallid hands. “Somehow, I convinced Hannah to give me a minute alone with Metatron.” Dean snarls at the name of his latest murderer. A fraction of the rage Cas unleashed upon the former scribe leaks into his voice. “And I…” Two wet drops splash onto the cement near his thumb. “I tore _him_ apart.” He finishes quietly.

Castiel manages to repress the rest of the tears that he longs to shed. Neither speaks, although he can hear the restless noises of Dean’s internal being twisting in on itself. He’s not sure he can trust in himself to meet Dean with an unbroken demeanor. Of course, the other can probably see shades of his true form thrashing in anguish anyway; for all the good it does to keep his head pointed down. There had been things he had planned on saying, weren’t there? He didn’t drive almost non-stop across a third of the country just to fall into a _useless_ heap of wailing misery.  There was a plan, not a good one, but a plan nonetheless. He just can’t remember what it is-he’s so unbelievably tired.

“Cas, you’re gonna pass out if you keep hyperventilating like that.” He looks up at the flat tone of the name Dean gave him. He didn’t think he’d ever hear that voice speak it again.

Dean’s expression is still, green eyes watching him with something akin to concern. It’s good enough, Cas decides. He slows his breathing, deepening it as he hoists himself up. The muscles in his legs cry out in protest, but he ignores them.

“I beat up Sam pretty badly.” There’s a pained edge to Dean’s speech now. “The first time he caught up with me, I broke a couple of ribs,” his attention flits off towards the splintering walls of the barn. “Maybe his wrist. Probably sprained a few things. I don’t know.” Cas remembers viewing the x-rays as he had sat beside Sam’s bed in the sterile, white room. “Second time might have been worse.”

“It wasn’t, he didn’t have to go to the hospital.” Dean scoffs.

“This time I probably would’ve killed him if he hadn’t managed to get the drop on me.” He chuckles. “Guessing he had some pointers from you.” Castiel nods. They had discussed tactics over the phone.

“I was supposed to be here sooner but I was detained.” he inclines his head. “Vigilantism doesn’t play well in Heaven.” Dean glances at him.

“Bet not. Get off on a technicality or something?” Cas smiles for the first time since he’s entered the barn.

“Or something.” Dean actually returns it for a moment. The hope he had kept so tightly leashed rears its’ head, straining against his chest like a beast that’s been boxed in for too long.

“Trying to get a straight answer out of you is just about as productive as all _this_ is.” He opens his palms again, indicating the impasse. Cas ventures forward, tentatively. It raises Dean’s hackles, but he doesn’t flinch.

“ _We_ want to help.” Dean quirks an eyebrow at him skeptically. “To make you human again.” He shakes his head as much as he can in the brace.

“You don’t think I’ve tried?” His eyes fall to his right arm. “I did, I have.  Everything I could think of. I even cut this _thing_ off.” He hisses in an inhuman pitch. “I went down to the muscle and it reformed.” Dean turns his head back up to Cas. “So I branded the muscle. No luck.” His brows furrow and his inflection rumbles with anger. “Cas, I cut the whole _damn_ arm off!” His eyes widen with a fraction of the horror he must have felt at the time. “It just grew back. Like something out of a goddamn horror flick.” Castiel regards the Mark with loathing, opting to remain silent because _Dean_ is finally talking-not the darkness inside of him.

“Do you know how many lives I’ve had to take just to stay on my feet? I don’t think even vamps have to kill this often.” Repulsion bleeds from his every word. “And how damn _good_ it feels when I...I haven’t stopped thinking about it since I woke up in here.” Castiel hurts so much for him that he swears he can feel his heart imploding behind his ribcage.

“I’m not the man you knew, the one who _deserved to be saved_.” His own words from that night echo harshly between them. “Not anymore.” Dean whispers. 

“You’re wrong, Dean.” A hint of hysteria cracks through Dean’s bark of laughter. “I need you to trust me that in this, you are _so very_ wrong.” He gulps, casting his head to the entrance of the barn. “You’ve spilled blood, yes, but I have spilled _oceans_ of it that you can never come close to filling.” Many times he’s wondered if God is punishing Dean for Castiel’s unforgivable sins. This is worse than any fate that could befall the angel himself. But he’s determined to do everything in his power to save the _man_ before him.

“And yet I know now that my own death is no way to redeem myself.” Dean’s eyes dart across Cas’ guilt-ridden features. “There’s no way to undo the past.”

“Liar.” Dean huffs.

“Not without damaging the present and future.” Cas continues. “The only way to right what I have done is to strive for a better future. To help those I can and those that I care for.” Dean shakes his head.

“It’s not enough, Cas. Sure you’ve fucked up pretty bad before, but at least you had good intentions.”

“The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.” The angel quotes back. “And the road to Heaven is paved with good works and _the good_ you’ve done far outweighs the bad.” Dean grimaces.

“No, Cas.” His voice breaks. “Maybe once, but not…if you knew some of the things I’ve done these past few months, you wouldn’t hesitate for a _second_ to kill me.” The truth is, he can’t imagine a single atrocity he’d slay Dean over. And he’s witnessed them all.

Castiel goes to Dean, and doesn’t stop until the toes of their shoes are touching. On some level it makes both of them uncomfortable, but on a more profound level they each crave the closeness. Dean inhales sharply, blinking as the tendons in his neck flex.

“Right now, just _being near_ you makes me want to smoke right out of my skin.” Disgust that’s not directed at Cas drips from his tone.

“And a distant part of me wants to char you into nothing.” Dean sniffs dryly and his eyes turn the color of jet once more as he glares up at Cas.

“Then _do it_.” The plea is so genuine, that the distortion has gone from his voice entirely.

Cas steps to Dean’s side and his onyx eyes follow the angel’s progress apprehensively. His outer thigh presses into Dean’s hip in-between the gaps in the chains. Releasing a breath he’s been holding for some time, Castiel reaches down cautiously to cup a bruised cheek in his palm. His flesh pricks unpleasantly and the other flinches somewhat, but Cas brings his fingers closer together and Dean leans into the touch, screwing his eyes shut.

“ _Never_.” The angel whispers. “I will _never_ hurt you of my own volition, Dean.” He opens them again and they’re as green as they’ve been all his life. “We’ll find a way. I’ll devote my existence to it.” Cas brushes a thumb over the dried blood on his cheekbone. “That’s what families are for, aren’t they?”

Castiel is an angel; he was born before the Earth’s crust had cooled. He’s older than the demon race and he _will_ find a way to undo this cruelest of fates. There’s a good possibility he’ll die soon, but not before he fixes this. If he can’t give Dean Winchester the life he deserves, then he will at least give him his humanity back.

“You know,” Dean murmurs. “When I died, the last thought I had was ‘ _it won’t be that bad, because I might get to bug Cas for all of eternity_ ’.” the sadness in his smile is boundless, and another unbidden tear rushes from the angel’s eye. It lands on Dean's cheek where it sizzles and burns a trail down his skin. His eyes darken again, but his smile doesn’t break.

“Hey, Cas.” He wipes the remnants of the drop from Dean’s face, still holding on for as long as he can. “Let me see your wings again.”

So Castiel unfurls them. Broken, blackened, and ugly as they are now, Dean laughs weakly and stares at them in awe with his obsidian eyes.

“Radical, man.” Cas spans them overhead to cover Dean protectively. He reaches down with his free hand to stroke the mark _he_ left on Dean’s bicep. “They’re so _bright_ , Cas.” He presses into the first caress and lets out a dry sob. “They’re so damn _bright_ they hurt to look at.”

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the fantastic [K_K_TiBal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/K_K_TiBal), who will be hosting the panel on **Setting Tone in Fic** , along with myself and [Dori](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dori) @ Destiel Con '14~ If you're attending, drop in and listen to us nerd out about writing mechanics in the context of everyone's favorite star-crossed OTP! 
> 
> So after the S9 finale, I had some quality time with the whiskey, and spent the entire next day trying to work out my feelings for that episode. This is the result. Sorry to deliver it at that stage where everyone's diving into fluff for solace :/ Why do I do this to myself and all you fine people, who just want to spend the Hellatus _not_ curled up in a corner, sobbing uncontrollably? -_-
> 
> Comments, particularly constructive ones are very much desired for this one. Especially since it involves **no smut** whatsoever O.O ikr? that's a rare thing for me. 
> 
> Thank you for subjecting yourself to this D; Now go read something _happy_!! We'll make it through this Hellatus guys-one fic at a time *sniff*


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